


Protection of Angels

by ElizaWIP (Eliza)



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), seaQuest
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza/pseuds/ElizaWIP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't promise to finish, or even add on to this, but there is enough of a story that I want it in the archive.</p><p>If it is ever finished, it will go into the main collection.</p><p>Unbetaed</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't promise to finish, or even add on to this, but there is enough of a story that I want it in the archive.
> 
> If it is ever finished, it will go into the main collection.
> 
> Unbetaed

Why him? Was there a sign on his back that said,”Kidnap me. Please,” or was it just something in his eyes? Lucas had moved past the angry stage, through terrified, and now wallowed comfortably in resigned with the occasional foray into morbidly amused. Maybe not amused, the laughter in his head sounded a fraction on the hysterical side even to him. Perhaps he hadn’t completely left terrified yet either. 

The sound of gun fire reestablished him there in a flash. When one was gagged and bound to a chair in a windowless room, it was impossible to wander far from terrified. The chaos ended quickly. Too quickly Lucas realized once the first wave of relief receded. He couldn’t hear anything, no shouts, no running, only dead silence. The poor choice of words hit home as the knob on the door turned, the latch opening silently. Even with the warning, the crash startled him enough so that he didn’t see the man enter the room; he was simply there, a vicious, blood-splattered face centered over the barrel of a very big gun. 

The perspective of looking down the barrel must be deceiving, for when the gunman lowered the weapon and stuck it in his belt, Lucas realized it wasn’t that big. And, under other circumstances, the face that eventually came into focus through his panicked haze might have been considered beautiful. But with gagging tape being ripped from his mouth, this was not the time to notice those kinds of things. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” The gunman muttered softly as he knelt and pulled at the tape securing Lucas’ ankles. When he looked up, the scowl on his face made him look more dangerous than the gun had. It had an intensity behind it that didn’t fade even when the frown eased into a small smile. He placed his hand on Lucas’ chest and just as gently said, “Breathe, lad. We’ll get you out of here,” then turned his head toward the door and shouted, “Murph! I need the knife.” 

An instant later, Murph entered the room, wearing an expression similar to his partner’s–not angry, something more–but after a heartbeat of hesitation in the doorway, a cocky grin replaced it. He pulled a large knife from behind his back as he approached. “Shit, Connor. You always get to the prize first.” 

The numerous possible meanings of the comment sunk in as Murphy sat down on his heels between Lucas’ knees and rested his hand on Lucas’ thigh. Lucas started back with a hiss and Murphy removed his hand quickly. “You hurt, kid?” he asked with real concern in his voice .

“No,” Lucas croaked, more a delayed response than the answer to the question. 

Connor took the knife with one hand and cuffed his partner off balance with the other. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” he said to Lucas while glaring at Murphy, who stayed sitting where he fell. “He’s an ass.” He slit the tape and then stood to reach Lucas’ hands. Murphy jumped to his feet to intercept him. 

“No way! You are not using my knife on those.” 

“What’s your solution? Break his hand?”

“No!” Lucas called out again, craning his neck around but not quite able to see them. Though it pleased him to hear that his voice had regained some power. 

A warm weight settled on Lucas’ shoulder. Murphy. His touch a comfort this time for as he made the gesture, the pair moved into view. “Now who’s being an ass?” Murphy said, brandishing his reclaimed weapon like an admonishing finger. “I’ll get the cuffs off without breaking _anything_.” He left the room with a mocking smirk directed at his partner.

For the first time in hours, Lucas took a deep breath. He stretched his neck, feeling some of the tension ease, proving it wasn’t all caused by the position he was stuck in. Noticing Connor watching him brought some of it back. It wouldn’t be the first time that he thought he’d escaped the frying pan and ended up dumped in the fire. “Who do you guys work for? Police? UEO? FBI?” 

Connor chuckled as he shook his head. “Let’s just say we get our orders from the top.”

Before Lucas could ask what that meant, Murphy returned, looking even more smug than when he left. As he knelt behind the chair, Connor frowned at him, obviously not seeing his partner’s plan any more than Lucas could, but when he felt the cuffs suddenly loosen, he realized Murphy had found the key. He rotated his shoulders and turned in the chair in time to see Connor ruffling Murphy’s dark hair.

“Such a clever boy.” 

“Fuck off, you wanker.” Murphy slapped the hand away as he rose to his feet. “We have unfinished business.” 

“Aye.” Connor nodded, suddenly serious. “What’s your name, lad?”

“Lucas.” He bit back the automatic addition of the last name. In frying pan and fire situations, it rarely helped. 

“Take it easy for a few minutes, Lucas,” Connor said with a quick squeeze to his other shoulder. “We’ll be back soon to get you out of here.”

Lucas nodded his agreement; he didn’t know what else to do at this point. As Connor and Murphy moved toward the door, they seemed to synchronize, falling into perfect step and mirroring each other’s movements. Coincidence, Lucas decided with a shake of his head. He was reading too much into innocent actions, just as he now knew he had when Murphy first came into the room. He needed to get a grip, focus on what was important like getting out of here. A few more deep breaths and careful stretches gave him the confidence to move from the chair. His legs felt sore but steady, and after a few circuits of the room, leaving seemed a reasonable option. He found himself standing in front of the door and steeled himself to test the handle, afraid he would find himself locked in again. It turned easily. 

He didn’t open the door. 

Gun shots and his rescue could only mean one thing: his captors were dead. At least some of them were. The blood painting Connor’s face left little doubt who was responsible. Or were they? These men kidnapped him–on someone else’s orders, true, but they were the ones who knocked him out and stuffed him in a box–and, from what he overheard, they were for hire for a wide variety of services. 

You reap what you sow. The line ran though Lucas’ mind as he pulled open the door, easing some of his guilt for his lack of compassion toward the dead men and the gratitude he felt for his rescuers and their methods. Still, the sight of the first body made him flinch away. Justified or not, he didn’t particularly want to see the results of Connor and Murphy’s actions. He had to get to the end of the hallway, so he made the effort to keep the body in his peripheral vision to avoid tripping on it. The closer he came, though, the harder it was not to look. As he passed by, his gaze flicked down. What he saw stopped him dead. In his tracks. He might not have actually seen a body before, but he knew that when a man fell in combat he didn’t cross his arms over his chest as he hit the ground. Unless he was a cartoon. And the coins.... Coins over the eyes were a funeral rite, payment for the guardian of the gateway to the underworld. Unfinished business they’d said. Lucas assumed they were looking for something, information or survivors. This was...weird. 

He jumped as something brushed against his back, and then sank against it in relief as he realized he’d only backed up against the wall. The solidity helped him fight the floating sensation of unreality creeping up on him. Not to mention the churning in his gut. He sidled past the corpse, sliding along the wall until his shoulder bumped against dark molding of the intricate banister. Dragging his eyes from morbid sight behind him, he startled back a half step at another one in front. This body had been arranged the same way, arms crossed and coins on the eyes, but this one had a red pool oozing out from under his arm which showed starkly against the white marble of the entryway. 

Lucas closed his eyes for a moment and then focused on his feet. He could hear voices coming from the main room, all he had to do is pass by the foot of the staircase and go through the open double doors and he would be with living people. He made it to the far wall of the staircase, allowing himself a small sigh as his hand closed over the door jam, but his breath froze as he saw the state of the main room. The tasteful monochromatic décor was now splashed with colour. Red. A splotch on the wall. A smear on the sofa. A sticky looking patch on the carpet. The bodies looked peaceful despite the obvious violence, that in itself seemed an obscenity. He leaned back against the entryway wall, trying not to hyperventilate. Or faint. Or vomit. Or anything equally humiliating. 

Then he saw Connor. 

A man had died leaning against the open door. Connor eased the body onto the floor and arranged the limbs gently, his motions precise. Then he knelt at the man’s head, reached into his pocket and took out two coins. He placed them on the closed eyelids and cradled the man’s face in his hand for a moment. Lucas couldn’t look away. He wanted to, but the kindness he saw on Connor’s face held him. Connor had likely killed this man, and likely this man had tried to kill him seconds before that, yet Connor treated what was left of him with dignity. More than that, made the effort to ensure the peaceful transition of his soul, if you believed in that kind of thing. It confused the hell out of Lucas. Between the terror of the day, the revulsion at the carnage, and the shock of finding grace in the centre of it, he felt as if he were walking a knife edge of sanity. The touch pushed him off. 

He might of jumped, he knew he spun, every atom in his body hyper-charged, but he found himself anchored before he could fly to pieces: arms encircled his shoulders, hands splayed across his back, a broad chest pressed against his forehead. A quick glance up confirmed to the pessimistic part of his brain what the rest of him already knew. Murphy. Again. The relief loosened his knees, forcing Lucas reach for some additional physical support. He clutched onto the waistband of Murphy’s jeans while his heartbeat slowed enough for anger and embarrassment to seep through the fear and relief. “You scared the crap out of me!” he snarled into Murphy’s sweater and punctuated the muffled rebuke with a punch to Murphy’s hip. 

“Shhh. Easy,” Murphy said soothingly into his ear. Murphy’s hands spoke more eloquently, one made long calming strokes down his back while the other softly caressed his hair. Lucas turned his face to the side to relax more easily into the embrace, returning it fully with his arms wrapped around Murphy’s waist. It astounded him how easy this was, how safe he felt. The past few years had been a battle to prove he could stand on his own two feet, and previous to that there had often seemed to be little other choice. He hadn’t realized how good it could be to lean on someone. Literally. 

Another voice slowly worked its way though the soothing rhythm of Murphy’s touch and breath. Slowly because it didn’t intrude, it complimented the movements. Or, more accurately, the movements complimented the voice. Connor’s. Speaking in Latin from the sound of it. Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucas shifted slightly, enough to see Connor with his arms spread wide and his face uplifted, wearing an expression of profound peace. The exquisite, disturbing image lasted a long moment, then Connor looked back at what remained of the man on the floor, touched him on the forehead and completed the gesture with its accompanying words, “In nomine Patris. Et filii. Et spiritus sancti.” 

“Amen,” Murphy joined in, speaking softly over the top of Lucas’ head, reminding Lucas that he was still standing in the circle of Murphy’s arms. As if a spell had been broken, Lucas took a couple of steps back. Murphy made no real effort to keep him close, although he did move with Lucas, stepping down from the stair riser and returning his hands to his sides with what seemed to be reluctance. Connor’s arrival only added to Lucas’ confusion, for his keen blue eyes seemed to see things that most people wouldn’t even be looking for. The partners’ gaze met for an instant and Murphy’s ubiquitous smirk returned as Connor turned to Lucas. 

“I thought I told you to stay put.” 

Even with the sexy Irish accent, Connor’s condescension cut through all of Lucas’ messier emotions to hit the one he could always count on: anger. “Voluntarily stay in the cage that I’ve been trapped in since breakfast? Not likely!” 

Murphy let out a bark of laughter and Connor smacked Murphy on the arm which only made him snicker again. When Connor returned his attention to Lucas, understanding seemed to have softened his impatience. A little. “The cops will be here soon. It would be best if you went back to that room and we lock the door. That way you can be found without any questions being asked that you might not want to answer.” 

“Plausible deniability?” Lucas asked. Connor nodded, seeming relieved, and Lucas almost felt sorry to disappoint him. “You’ve forgotten something. These guys were working for someone else, what if the men who hired them get here first?” 

Murphy grabbed Connor’s arm, the fierce look returned to his face as he spoke into Connor’s ear, “We could stay until--”

Connor cut him off. “How will we know who’s arriving? If they are the threat? And what if the cops happen to show up in the middle?” Connor turned just enough to meet his partner’s eyes continuing the communication in silence. Murphy nodded the whole time. 

They separated with Connor sighing deeply. “All right, Lucas– Why the fuck did you take those off?” Connor asked, his attention distracted by Murphy pulling on his gloves. 

“I took them off coming down the stairs.” Murphy gestured over his shoulder back up the stair case. “That one was messy.” He brought his thumb and fingers together then separated them with a distinctly sticky sound.

“Oh, God.” Lucas hoped he didn’t look as green as he felt. The bright red sunburst on the landing wall made it very clear why the body would have been messy. 

“That was a brilliant shot.”

“Thank you very much.”

Lucas realized with a start that he was alone and they were standing a few feet away in the doorway, looking at him, waiting for him. As he stared back at them, blinking away his momentary fugue, Connor grinned. “We’re going out the way we came in. We’ve learned it’s best to disturb as little as possible. You can still go back to your room, if you prefer.”

“No,” Lucas said, starting forward. “I’m outta here.” 

Murphy waved him past, so he focused on Connor’s back to get him through this last maze of blood and death. “Don’t step in anything,” Murphy whispered in his ear. 

Lucas looked down, expecting to be standing in a lake of red, but saw only cream carpeting. He reached an undeniable conclusion. “You’re evil.”

Connor chuckled. “He got to know you well on that staircase, Murph.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Murphy shot back cheerfully.

Rounding the end of the sofa grouping, a particularly gruesome sight hit the edge of Lucas’ vision. He shied away just enough to catch his hip on the desk they were passing. The impact spun him and he put his hands down hard to keep his feet under him. 

“Come on, Lucas,” Murphy said, sliding an arm around his waist to help him regain his balance as they continued forward. “We’ve got to get out of here. The cops are on their way.” Murphy nodded toward Connor who was already outside and talking to someone on his hand held as he wiped at his face with a rag. 

Those last few steps were the easiest with both the open air in sight and Murphy beside him blocking out most of the room. As soon as they were on the patio, Murphy let him go and pulled the door shut with the same hand that had supported him. It seemed strange until Lucas realized that Murphy had kept his other hand in a tight fist, holding onto the blood on the glove. 

“What the fuck’s this?” Connor said, startling Lucas with his sudden proximity. When both Lucas and Murphy looked at him, puzzled, he tapped on the laptop tucked under Lucas’ arm. 

That was a good question, Lucas admitted to himself. He didn’t remember picking it up, although he did remember his hands slapping against it when he hit the desk. 

“I didn’t notice you’d picked that up,” Murphy said. 

Lucas shrugged. “No one will think anything of it. It’s the type of thing I’d do.”

“Steal a computer?”

“Go looking for the answers before anyone else even knows the questions.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Oh...fuck.”

Murphy looked over his shoulder at the soft exclamation from the back seat and then turned to Connor. “The boy’s picking up our bad habits.” 

“He smoking? Or is there some beer left back there?” Connor turned in his seat to take a look for himself. 

“Get your eyes back on the fuckin’ road, ya retard,” Murphy said, his cuff to Connor’s head more a grazing of hair than actual contact. 

“Are we far enough away that we can stop for a moment?” Lucas asked, his full attention drawn back to the screen open beside him. “I’d like to try and contact some friends.” 

Lucas could feel Murphy’s gaze on him and Connor’s voice was unusually soft when he asked, “What did you find?”

“My file,” said Lucas shakily. He took a deep breath and lifted his head to meet Murphy’s eyes. “The file that they used to find and take me. There’s someone else who needs to see it. And I’d like to arrange to get back to sea...my friends.”

Murphy raised an eyebrow at the avoidance but nodded, and within five minutes Connor pulled onto a wooded side road and found a secluded spot to park. Lucas moved the laptop onto the truck of the car, trying to get a clear signal while setting up a source scrambler. Connor and Murphy leaned against the passenger side doors, sharing a cigarette. He almost said something; smoking outside of designated zones was against the law, but then so was decorating a house in the blood of half a dozen men. That wasn’t the reasoning that stopped him, though; there was no reason to it at all except it seemed wrong to disturb them. They stood shoulder to shoulder, barely moving, silent. Perfectly at ease with each other. Then Murphy blew a smoke ring and Connor smiled at him. The smile made Lucas look away. 

The computer’s chime sounded, dragging Lucas’ thoughts back to the task at hand. This he knew how to deal with. A few key strokes and the code for “Captain’s Eyes Only” appeared in the prefix to the transmission. When Bridger’s worried face appeared on the screen, Lucas couldn’t help but sag against the trunk in relief.

“Lucas!”

“It’s me, Captain.”

“Your mother is worried about you.”

“I’m not being monitored, Captain. But I’ll pretend you meant it. It’s a nice dream.”

“You’re all right?” Bridger must have been worried for he didn’t even blink at the smart-ass remark about Mom.

“I’m fine. Now that I can see the sky again.” Lucas gestured over his shoulder to the backdrop of the open field with its far horizon.

“And earlier?”

“Tied to a chair in a room with one light bulb. Don’t know how long I was in there, they knocked me out when they grabbed me at about 7:30 this morning.”

“Any idea who?”

Lucas shook his head. “The guys were contracted. Someone else pulled their strings, Captain. I did manage to pick up a laptop as I was leaving, though.” Bridger frowned for a moment but said nothing, so Lucas continued, “I’m sending you two files: a faithful copy of the file I found and one with the digging I’ve done, including the location of the house. I’ve pulled out some information, but I’m not sure if it means anything. Transmitting.”

The captain focused on his console for a few moments then looked up again. “Got ‘em. Lucas, can you stay put for a while?” 

A glance at Connor gave him the answer. “I think I’m safer on the move right now. Anyway, I want to get back to--”

“Not just yet,” Bridger cut him off. “We don’t know what we are dealing with, I want to do some digging myself first. We were informed an hour ago that you were being...detained was the word that was used. If no one knows that you’ve escaped yet that could be to our advantage. Get back to me in a couple of hours and I’ll update you. In the meantime, you have the files and a full disc to go through and scrambled access to the Internex.” The captain held up a hand stopping Lucas’ protest before he could even take a breath. “I’m giving you carte blanche to commit virtual felonies until I talk to you again. Take advantage of it, please. For me?” A smile gave the request a final flourish. 

Lucas paused until he saw the smile fade slightly, then smiled back. “Aye, sir.”

Bridger made a show of being annoyed before he put on his serious face and said, “Two hours,” then signed off. 

The blank screen gave Lucas the same abandoned feeling the blank room had. Completely unfair, he knew, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. He shut down the computer and looked up to see Connor and Murphy making a point of not watching him. They just leaned with their backs against the car, their heads tilted slightly toward each other as if listening to each other’s thoughts. The irrational anger building in Lucas’s gut dissipated with a sudden thought. “Are you guys telepaths?” he asked as he moved in front of them.

They jumped as if hit by lightening.

“Wha’?” Murphy went pale. “No!”

“Sweet Mary, Mother of God,” Connor muttered while crossing himself. “Could you imagine that?”

“Fuckin’ scary, your brain.” Murphy slapped Connor on the side of the head. 

Connor smacked him back. “At least I’ve fucking got one.” 

“Not that anyone could tell.” Murphy shoved at Connor’s shoulder. 

“All right. All right,” Lucas said, pushing them apart easily. “Can we save the sublimated homoeroticism for another time?”

That shut them up briefly, until a smile appeared around Murphy’s eyes and he leaned close to whisper, “You do know we’re brothers, don’t you?”

After a couple of false starts, Lucas managed to say, in passable imitation of Murphy’s accent, “Not that anyone could tell.”

Both brothers stared at him, but it was Connor who broke first. He laughed and wrapped an arm around Lucas’ shoulder, guiding him to the front passenger door. “I like this lad. You’re sitting up front with me, Lucas.” 

“Hey!” Murphy whined, then paused. He waited until Connor glanced at him before grinning. “I’ll be fucking board back there.”

Connor stopped with the door cracked a few inches. “Oh, Christ,” he cursed quietly at the door then glared at a serenely smiling Murphy. He turned back to Lucas, contrite, “Lucas would you mind...?”

“Nah,” Lucas said, a little relieved actually. “I’ve got work to do anyway and it’s easier to get comfortable in the back.”

Murphy winked at him as they passed. It had been a good show, all the players hitting their marks. And Lucas did feel less alone for his part in the horse-play; it was a good shot he had got in. So was the one they returned. Lucas turned that information over in his mind and had to ask, “Brothers? Really?”

“Aye.”

They didn’t really look a like, one blond and golden, the other brunet and fair, but they moved alike and obviously seemed to think alike even without telepathy. One thing Lucas just couldn’t figure out. “Who’s older?”

Connor’s hand covered Murphy’s mouth as Connor said, “We’re twins. Ma wouldn’t tell us.”

Murphy gave a long, passionate, completely muffled speech. 

Connor, who seemed to understand perfectly, rebutted, “She also tried to convince us she had killed herself with Da’s gun. For a fucking joke. How can you put any stock in what that evil woman says?” 

The shrug and smiling eyes said enough, at least to Connor, who removed his hand to cuff Murphy on the ear. “Idiot,” he growled at he turned his full attention to the increasing traffic as they reached the major freeway to take them past Charleston. 

Murphy looked over the seat, mouthed, “I’ll tell you later,” and then pointed to himself. A jab in the ribs from Connor turned him around and he settled down for the rest of the ride. 

They sure acted like brothers. Sort of. More what Lucas imagined brothers would act like rather than any he knew. Which in itself implied more than just the common blood binding them. But he was hardly the one to judge given the history of his interpersonal relationships, particularly his familial ones. When it came right down to it, 32-key encryption was much simpler to figure out. He opened up the computer and went to work.


	2. Chapter 2

The crunch of tires rolling to a slow stop broke Lucas’ concentration just long enough for him to see that they were parking for good this time. Just in time, too, he need to contact the captain in ten minutes. Another look at the shack in front of him made him rethink that conclusion. “Is there electricity?”

Connor shrugged. “Haven’t a clue.”

“There’s a fireplace, at least,” Murphy said, nodding toward the wood pile as he grabbed a bag of groceries from the back seat. “We’ll be able to have beans on toast for dinner.”

“Swell,” Lucas muttered. Connor shoved the other bag into his arms as soon as he was out of the car. It was heavy. “Hey! There’s no food in here.” 

“Nectar of the gods, boyo,” said Connor as he opened the trunk. He shouldered a couple of duffle bags before slamming it again, bringing the grin evident in his voice into view. “Man cannot live by bread alone.” 

“I don’t think that was in reference to beer.”

“The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” Connor intoned solemnly and Lucas could hear Murphy snickering as he looked around the flowerpots by the door. Connor tilted his head to try and meet Murphy’s upside down gaze. “It’s in the window box. Not the pots.” 

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. He said the fucking flower box.”

“No, he fucking _didn’t_.”

“Yes, he bloody well _did_.”

“Ah HA!” Murphy stood up, brandishing the key. “Fucking pots. I get the first shower.”

“Just unlock the door, ya puffed up git.” 

Fortunately, the interior of the cabin didn’t live down to Lucas’ expectations. There was electricity and running water and a wood stove with a glass door instead of a fireplace. The kitchen to the right of the door was functional–it had a refrigerator at lease--and there was a table to seat four in the dining area to the left. The wood stove sat in the middle of the left hand wall with two arm chairs arranged in front of it. A long dresser sat under the window in the back wall and in front of that, dominating the basically one-room cabin, was a large bed, its head pressed against the interior bathroom wall.

“Whose cabin is this?” Lucas asked, coming to a stop a couple of steps though the door

“Don’t know. Didn’t ask,” Connor replied as he pushed past. He dumped the ruffle bags on the table as Murphy took the grocery bag out of Lucas’ arms. He put the whole thing in the fridge. 

“There,” Murphy said, stretching expansively. “The important stuff is done. You can deal with dinner while I get cleaned up.”

Connor looked up from the stove and rolled his eyes. “Toss me your lighter, man. We wouldn’t want your delicate self to catch a chill.” The lighter hit his hands with enough force to make him grunt.

“So very kind,” Murphy simpered before flashing them both a wide grin and closing the bathroom door. 

Connor sighed dramatically, but Lucas could see him grinning as well. Traces still lingered when he looked up from the stove and gestured toward the end of the bed. “There’s an outlet on the wall there. It should help save the batteries.” 

The reminder of the time prodded Lucas into motion. The laptop’s retractable cord just reached if he set the computer on the end of the bed, so he kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable as he waited for the comm to connect. 

The screen opened up. It showed the Captain looking aimlessly at the datapads in front of him, the stylus spinning in his fingers and tapping on the desk, but in the instant he focused on the screen, any sign of distraction disappeared. “Lucas. I need you to stay clear of seaQuest and the UEO. Can you find some place safe, out of sight, for the next couple of days?

“Couple of days? Captain–“

“We have reason to believe that whoever took you did it as leverage against your father.”

“Obviously they didn’t do their homework very well,” Lucas muttered bitterly.

“Lucas.” The instinctive rebuke from the captain made Lucas drop his eyes in wry acknowledgement and Bridger shook his head in lieu of the rest of the stock lecture in order to continue. “The information they had on you came from UEO sources, you saw that, and we have reason to believe there is a mole on seaQuest herself. Timing is critical on your father’s project. As long as you stay out of reach for the next 24 hours, their plan falls through. Or at least any plan that could use your life as incentive for sabotage.”

“But I could help, Captain. You know that. All I need is access–“

“To get a spy onto seaQuest would require some help. I don’t know who to trust right now. And these people are ruthless, Lucas. The house you were held in looks like a....”

As Bridger ran his hand through his hair, uncharacteristically at a loss for words, Lucas bit down on his impulse to say he knew exactly what the house looked like. He wouldn’t be able to explain why he felt safe with men capable of such carnage. Maybe it was because the ones left behind in that house were fully capable of that level of carnage, too. Ruthless. Even with a wrong assumption, Bridger had come to the right conclusion. 

Lucas glanced over to the stove to find Connor still crouched there but watching him, his expression neutral, not providing any clue as to what to do. The look stayed steady, though, giving Lucas the strong impression that Connor would support whatever decision he came to. “I’ll stay put, Captain.” 

“Lucas?” 

He dragged his eyes away from Connor and back to the vid screen. “I don’t like being out of the loop, but I can restrain myself for 24 hours.” Bridger’s doubtful look made Lucas smile. “I promise. But then I’m coming back.”

“How about then you contact me and we’ll discuss it.”

“Or we can discuss it when I get there.”

“I don’t know where we’ll be, Lucas. Or if I’ll be on board.”

“But if you’re not on board–“

Bridger cut him off again. “I’ll make sure someone is waiting for your call. Someone we both trust.”

Lucas curled his legs up in front of him and rested his chin on his knee. “I hate this.”

“I know. Hang tight, kiddo.”

The screen when blank and Lucas let go of his legs to reach the keys to sever his end of the connection. It took effort to lift his hand to close the laptop; it moved in slow motion. Suddenly, everything seemed too heavy. He dropped his forehead to his knees and found himself struggling to keep breathing. Then he felt it, feather light, more like a sensation of warmth running over his back than an actual caress. Something eased and he took a deep breath, his back expanding until he felt the distinct weight of a hand resting between his shoulder blades, over his heart. He expected Connor to move away then, but he didn’t, and Lucas basked in the heat that slowly radiated from the touch.

Connor broke the contact at the sound of a door opening, but didn’t move away from the bed and Lucas looked up in time to see him hold out his other hand to Murphy. “Clean shirt. That’s the last one.”

“Cheers,” Murphy said, tossing the tee in his hand toward the duffles and pulling on the clean one. 

“How about you take the next turn, Lucas? You’ve had a rougher day than we have, I imagine. More reason to want the feel of that place off of your skin.” Connor paused and then took a breath as if steeling himself. “And would you give me your shirt to get rid of? It’s got a blood stain that could be hard to explain.”

Lucas jumped off the bed, pulling at the hem of his shirt. When he saw the edge of the dark brown stain, he felt things go a little dark for a moment. Remembering to breathe helped that, as did Murphy’s exclamation. “Oh, shit! Here.” Murphy stripped off the T-shirt he’d just put on. “Go on. It’s my handprint after all.”

“Thanks.” Lucas hoped he wasn’t blushing. What else could you say to a guy who had just given you the shirt off his back? 

Connor stopped him as he turned toward the bathroom. “Hold on a minute. Just want to see if there’s any more.” He sank to his knees and then grinned up at Lucas. “Don’t mind me. It’s easier to feel the blood on jeans this dark than it is to see it.” He started at the cuffs, hands skimming up the leg, over hips and backside, where he muttered under his breath, “You never know where Murphy’s hands will end up.” Lucas was still grinning at the snide remark as Connor quickly finished the other leg then gave him a firm slap on the ass to send him toward the bathroom. 

He didn’t look at the shirt before tossing it out the door to Connor, he didn’t want to see the brand he had been wearing for the past couple of hours. Washing off the day seemed like a good idea. As he moved the borrowed T-shirt from the sink to the hooks behind the door, Lucas found himself staring at it, then brought the cloth to his face. Embarrassment flared as he took a deep breath and he laughed quietly at himself as he hung up the shirt, stripped off the rest of his clothes, and turned on the water. Murphy wore the tee for maybe a full minute before taking it off again, of course it wouldn’t smell like him, and even if it did, what the hell did Lucas think he was doing!? But it had been slightly damp from Murphy’s skin and a little warmer than it should have been. He propped his hands against the shower wall in front of him and closed his eyes as he let the water beat down on the top of his head, hoping to drown the thoughts that seemed to be creeping around in the back of his mind. The water rolled over his back, a comforting wave of warmth, just like it felt when Connor calmed him earlier. Or when Connor touched his chest even before he had been freed. Or when Connor’s hands slid up his leg.... Lucas couldn’t call his reaction to that touch comfortable and drowning thoughts obviously didn’t work. He turned the tap for the cold water and bit his lip to keep in the yelp the change in temperature evoked. This was getting ridiculous. Everything he was feeling was in reaction to the situation, the stress, the adrenaline. It was natural to be attracted to a rescuer. Grateful. He upped the temperature of the water a bit and reached for the soap–*not* thinking about who had used it last–and went to work washing away the fear and tension of the last 12 hours. The immediate danger had passed, he was simply hiding out. In the McManus brothers’ hide-out. He’d caused them enough problems today and vowed not to add his deluded fantasies to the list. 

~*~*~*~*~

The fire crackled in the stove as he came out of the bathroom, it had already made the room noticeably warmer than when he went in, otherwise the cabin was quiet. A quick look to his left confirmed an empty kitchen, and to his right... The view to the right sent all of his resolutions running down the drain with the water. The laptop was open again, Murphy must have been looking at it when he fell asleep. One hand rested against the case, a beer can leaning dangerously against his wrist, and his other arm tucked under his head. His bare feet were hooked over the side of the bed by the pillows while the rest of his body stretched diagonally across the mattress. He hadn’t bothered to find another shirt. 

The laptop teetered on the edge of the bed and instinct prompted Lucas to rescue it. He closed it up, unplugged it, and set it and the mostly empty beer can on the dresser. He must have done it by touch, because he couldn’t remember taking his eyes off Murphy, every new angle more fascinating than the last. The view from the bathroom door highlighted the arc of his spine. From the side of the bed, his face could be seen cradled in the crook of his arm. The foot of the bed showed off the curves of his shoulders. But on the far side, there was art. 

Lucas double checked that he _had_ set the computer on the dresser and then moved closer for a better look. An angel and a demon battled on Murphy’s right shoulder blade, sketched in simple black lines on a canvas of pale skin. Tattoos had always fascinated him, but he had never had a chance to see anything like this up close. He felt the heat of Murphy’s flesh before he caught himself, pulled his hand back from the urge to test those lines, find out if they felt any different. He knew they shouldn’t, but that didn’t dampen the need to feel the darkened skin under his fingers. More ink caught his eye, the tattoo both brothers had on their necks. Lucas wasn’t sure what it was, he hadn’t wanted to be caught staring, and the position Murphy was sleeping in wouldn’t let him find out now. 

It was easy to let his gaze wander from Murphy’s neck along his jaw to his face. Lucas carefully placed one knee on the bed, afraid to disturb Murphy, but unable to resist a chance to look without censure. He seemed so young like this, just like when he grinned, when he seem a little boy intent on mischief but without a hint of malice. Asleep, even the mischief was gone, and Lucas found it difficult to find the blood-soaked killer or even the chain-smoking, foul-mouthed man in the expression of peaceful innocence before him. A lock of hair had fallen into his eyelashes and Lucas reached to move it. The second thought hit him when he was only inches away but desire pushed him forward. The silky hair, still slightly damp, slid against his fingers as easy as air. It was so simple and, surprisingly, the world didn’t end. 

He thought giving in to that small impulse would be enough, and it was, giving him the strength to move away until another mark caught his attention. This one wasn’t crafted with care in ink; it was an obvious sign of violence. A scar. A bullet wound most likely, but smooth and shiny, like a burn, in the middle of Murphy’s arm just below the curve of his left shoulder. Was it sensitive, or had the nerves been dulled? Would it be soft, or oddly slick? Did the smoothness of the skin around the rough circle in the centre only provide a contrast to the eye, or would there be a dramatic difference to touch as well? Why wasn’t curiosity one of the deadly sins, it always got him into the most trouble, for this time when he reached out the second of hesitation didn’t come. It took effort to limit himself to his fingertips, to gently test the scar with the lightest of touches. Smooth. Warm. He let his fingers stretch a bit and experienced the velvet of Murphy’s unmarked skin, then traced the edge of the scar. Would it taste any different?

“I’m not asleep.” 

His guilty fingers snapped into a fist as Murphy turned his head and opened his eyes. Lucas couldn’t meet them. 

“You don’t have to stop,” Murphy continued softly. “I didn’t want to risk any misunderstandings.” 

There was only one thing that could make this situation even more embarrassing. “Where’s Connor?”

“There’s a washer out back; he’s doing laundry. And burning the sweater he was wearing earlier, along with my gloves and your shirt. Sorry. Hope it wasn’t a favourite.”

“Not anymore,” Lucas said with a snort and a smile, and forgot he didn’t want to meet Murphy’s eyes. 

The little boy was gone, along any illusion of innocence. For a moment, Lucas let himself imagine he saw heat in the blue eyes and that it was for him. But only for a moment. Murphy’s eyes narrowed slightly and he rolled onto his back, his hip sharing warmth with Lucas’ knee. He reached for Lucas’ hand, the fist now pushed hard into the bedspread, and continued to hold Lucas’ gaze. Very carefully, Murphy pressed into the palm to get Lucas’ hand to relax, stroked along the fingers until they uncurled, then, just as Lucas was getting used to contact, placed it back over the scar. Only then did Murphy look away, to watch as he continued the caresses along the back of Lucas’ hand and up the wrist. 

“You have beautiful hands.” Murphy’s voice stroked with the same incendiary softness as his fingers. “I can’t imagine anyone refusing their touch.” 

The protest almost escaped Lucas’ lips but Murphy stopped it with a single finger. The reach shifted Murphy’s arm under his hand, sliding skin under his palm. And his hand kept moving, over Murphy’s shoulder, just brushing at the curve of his neck. Lucas couldn’t think of a reason to stop, not while watching Murphy growing smile, his eyes half closed like a contented cat. He stopped looking for reasons when Murphy stretched into his touch, the tattoo he’d wondered about appearing almost under his fingertips. He traced the stylized Madonna, oddly surprised that there really was no difference in the texture of the skin. On an impulse he used his whole hand, his palm over the icon, his thumb putting slight pressure on the jaw bone, and his fingers pressing into muscles on the back of Murphy’s neck. 

“God,” Murphy breathed and opened his eyes. Lucas felt the heat this time, though it may have been Murphy’s hands, one moving up his relaxed arm, the other reaching around his ribcage to put fingertip pressure on his back. A gentle, but inescapable hint. Then the heat flared into flame. “Come ‘ere,” Murphy snarled. 

He started forward without thinking, and kept going at the sight of the grin that split Murphy’s face. There was a dare there, urging him on even more effectively than the subtle weight of the hands on his back and shoulder. And before he realized it, he was stretched out on his stomach, pressed against Murphy’s side, looking down at flushed, parted lips, and again wondering what the hell he thought he was doing.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Murphy warned. 

The hand on Lucas’ shoulder slid to mirror his own touch, but instead of pulling him down, Murphy lunged up to kiss him. Lightly. So lightly. A frustrating cling of warmth held there by breath. Lucas tried to increase the contact, but it kept retreating until he felt a soft sigh against his mouth and the distance closed. 

Lucas liked to kiss. He hadn’t had many opportunities, true, but those few had done nothing to prepare him for this. What started as a familiar press of lips and brush of tongue spun out of control as Murphy opened up under him. Lucas never imaged that a seeming submission could be bold, active, brain-meltingly passionate. It surprised him enough for him to groan into the kiss. Murphy growled back, bringing to mind the fierceness Lucas had witnessed earlier. It made him pull back a little as a shiver ran down his spine, both prompted by sudden, sharp arousal rather than fear. Whether Murphy guessed this or not, he didn’t seem willing to let Lucas go. The hand resting on his lower back moved lower and pressed him tight against Murphy’s hip. The one on his neck raked into his hair, cradling his head at just the right angle to let Murphy to devour him. And he allowed it, until his head started to swim. He pushed up onto his elbows, breaking the kiss enough for him to gasp and pant against Murphy’s lips. 

With barely a second of hesitation, Murphy changed tactics, fisting his hand in Lucas’ hair and pulling his head back with a steady pressure as he rained kisses over Lucas’ throat. The pressure didn’t let up until Lucas felt the bed against his back, then Murphy transferred his grip to the hem of the borrowed tee-shirt. It was an obvious hint and the shirt came off in the instant Lucas lifted himself off of the bed. Murphy followed him back down, echoing the first kiss. Lucas tried to match Murphy’s response, but Murphy pulled away too soon, dragging his lips along Lucas’ cheek to his ear. 

“Put your hands on me,” Murphy whispered.

Lucas’ breath caught at the words even as his hands eagerly complied, skimming over Murphy’s ribs to spread wide over his back. Murphy purred against his neck and Lucas arched up helplessly, finding the skin under his hands more of a tease than real satisfaction. The brush of Murphy’s chest against his as Murphy settled lower, continuing lazy kisses down his throat, pushed his patience to its limit and he pulled Murphy down off of his elbows and knees. He felt the breath of Murphy’s laugh against his chest as he struggled momentarily to find his own again. But they quickly found a balance, one were they could both shift and reach and feel. Murphy brushed his lightly stubbled cheek along Lucas’ collarbone. Lucas lifted his knee and dragged his thigh along Murphy’s, still able to feel the flex of the muscles through two layers of denim. There was no urgency, no hurry in their movements, just a steadily swelling tide of sensation. Lucas closed his eyes and let the fingertips of his left hand search for black inked wings.

He felt Murphy freeze before he heard the door. And the foot steps. He looked up in time to see Connor kick the door closed, his arms piled with firewood. 

“Shit,” Murphy said so quietly Lucas almost didn’t hear him, then louder, “Connor?’‘

“You’d better fucking hope so.” The wood dropped into the box with a loud crash.

“Fuck,” Murphy swore again against Lucas’ skin, then turned and sat up. “Look...” 

The rest of the sentence died as Murphy’s posture changed from defensive to inquisitive. Lucas’ gaze bounced back and forth between Murphy’s cocked head and Connor’s wry twist of a smirk. They didn’t say a word, but their expressions showed something passing between them. Then Connor’s eyes slid over to Lucas and he felt his skin prickle with heat. 

“I’m looking.”

“So you are,” Murphy said with a flash of the mischievous grin. 

Connor kept looking as he stalked across the room, losing his boots without breaking stride, without breaking the stare either, holding Lucas on the bed as if hands were keeping him there. He could feel his adrenalin spike, increasing heart rate, breathing; since their first meeting short hours ago, it had become the natural response to being the centre of Connor’s attention. Lucas couldn’t kid himself anymore, it wasn’t a fear reaction. Hadn’t been since the first time. In any other situation, Connor about to climb up on the bed with him would be something to anticipate. But things were complicated, Murphy was there.

Murphy was right there, butting his shoulder up against Connor’s as soon as Connor’s hands touched the mattress, rubbing his face against Connor’s like a cat. Connor closed his eyes and Lucas could see him lean toward his brother, the intensity on his face softening as he seemed to melt into the contact. 

“Go shower,” Murphy said against Connor’s cheek. “I think you missed a spot earlier. You don’t smell like yourself.”

“Mmm. If you insist.” 

Connor leaned into Murphy a little bit more then stood up, rolling his shoulders. He dropped his hands back down to the bed, startling Lucas with the suddenness, but not enough for him to miss the kiss Connor planted on Murphy. It didn’t last long, but brotherly it wasn’t. Murphy didn’t say a thing when it ended, he just smiled as Connor sauntered toward the bathroom and called over his shoulder, “Turn down the fucking bed. If the two of you are gonna roll around, help warm up the sheets at least.” 

As the bathroom door closed, Murphy bounced up onto his knees in the middle of the bed. He slapped Lucas’ thigh, “Come on. Give us a hand,” and started to pull the pillows out from under the spread. 

Lucas focused on just breathing until he found a recurring pattern in the confused tumble of thoughts running through his head. “What the hell was all that about?!”

The vehemence of the question made Murphy stop and look sharply at Lucas. After a moment, though, he seemed only resigned. He pivoted and bounced down onto his left hip so he was stretched out crossways on the bed, his head resting on his hand. “You don’t like Connor?”

“No. Yes, I like Connor. That’s not the point.”

“You don’t like me, then?”

Lucas smacked Murphy on the shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Murphy fought a smile as he made the effort to ask seriously, “Then what’s bothering you? We aren’t going to gang up on you if that’s what you’re worried about. It can be hands-off from now on.” Murphy’s eyes dropped to Lucas’ hands, their fingers threaded together and hooked around an upraised knee. “Though, personally, I would find that a real shame.” He brushed a finger over the tips closest to him. 

“I...” Lucas steeled himself and just said it. “You’re brothers.”

Murphy pulled his hand away, slowly, deliberately, and met Lucas’ eyes the same way. “Aye.”

“And you...” He couldn’t finish it, but saw before he looked away that Murphy knew what he meant to ask. 

And Murphy ignored it. “I like you. Very much.” He reached up and nudged Lucas’ cheek, turning his head the extra fraction so that he met Murphy’s gaze again. When someone wanted to avoid a subject, they usually avoided the questioner’s eyes as well, Murphy wasn’t doing that. Lucas knew that if he asked a blunt question, Murphy would reply with a blunt and honest answer, but he wasn’t going to make it easy. Nor should he have to. It wasn’t as if Lucas didn’t know the answer and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear the confirmation as it would likely squash the feelings that surged though him as the back of Murphy’s finger moved over his jaw and down his throat, the knuckle pressing gently against the artery so close to the surface, testing his quickening pulse. 

He caught Murphy’s hand in a locked thumbed grip that curled his fingers over Murphy’s wrist and Murphy’s over his. At the sight of more ink, Lucas began to wonder if he would have the courage to wear pieces of himself as openly on his skin as the brothers did. “Aequitas,” he muttered as he underlined the word between Murphy’s right thumb and forefinger with a brush of his own thumb.

“You know what it means?”

“I can guess.” Lucas looked up and grinned. “It’s Latin. It’s root seems to be aequus. Equal. So it likely has something to do with balance.” He rolled the word over in his mind and again over his tongue. “Aequitas. Equitable. Equity. Yes, that’s it. A state of being impartial and fair.” 

“Of being just.”

“I’m not sure being just or justice can fall into the same category as fair anymore. It has become too subjective, confused with vengeance in too many cases. I wouldn’t be surprise if whoever arranged for my kidnapping thought what they were doing was just. Justice.” He looked down at their joined hands again, desperate to chase away the cold ache of fear creeping into the pit of his belly. Murphy squeezed and creeping stopped. Suddenly, Lucas knew what would make it disappear altogether. “I like this word better,” he said and kissed the inked skin. 

A small sound and added pressure on his hand brought his attention back to Murphy. He had rolled onto his back and now slowly drew Lucas toward him. As Lucas let himself be toppled onto one hip, his free hand came out for balance, hitting the bed at Murphy’s far side and pressing hot skin against the inside of his arm. The contact surprised him, and Murphy must have seen it for he narrowed his eyes and turned their joined hands so that Lucas’ rubbed against his chest as he continued to pull Lucas closer. 

Lucas pulled back. And just like on the stairs, Murphy let him go. Reluctantly. His hand followed Lucas’ as it released its hold so that his arm rested over the bottom of his rib cage. The slightly shuttered expression that passed over Murphy’s face made Lucas realize the movement seemed like a rejection, when really he’d just reacted to something that had caught his attention. He smiled tentatively as he traced the edges of the knotted Celtic cross on Murphy’s forearm. As understanding lit Murphy’s eyes, Lucas let his smile widen and said, “You must think I’m obsessed.”

“Obsess all you want, as long as you keep touching me.”

Invitation, benediction, demand–whatever the statement had been, Lucas was very willing to comply. He finished outlining the cross with a single fingertip and then continued up Murphy’s arm. He let the other three join it, then tips became full fingers as Lucas curved them over the muscle at Murphy’s shoulder. His palm lead the way onto the torso, the pectoral under his hand swelling as Murphy took a deep breath. The proximity of the faint sound startled Lucas. He had been focused on his hand, on the skin under it, and had leaned forward, draped himself over Murphy practically. Murphy didn’t seem to mind a bit.

A more comfortable position was called for, and Lucas would need both hands to lever himself out of the twist he’d ended up in. The request was to keep touching, but Murphy hadn’t specified with what, so Lucas lowered his mouth to a spot just below his hand, and as he moved it, licked his way up Murphy’s breastbone to the base of his throat. Murphy arched up, letting Lucas take his time tasting his way to Murphy’s jaw. The skin vibrated under his lips as he hooked his thigh over Murphy’s, giving himself some stability while he tried to evoke that sound again. The feeling of Murphy’s hands running over his back, pulling him closer, surprised him into a vocal sigh instead, though muffled against Murphy’s neck. 

“Lucas,” Murphy said, and Lucas automatically raised his head in answer. He saw the hint of a smile before Murphy kissed him. Lucas fought his own grin as he relaxed against Murphy’s mouth, trying to recapture the easy satisfaction from earlier in the evening. The sound of a door opening acted as an unnerving reminder of why there had been an interruption. He tried to draw away, but “Aequitas” curved under Lucas’ ear as fingers wrapped around his nape and Murphy deepened the kiss, rendering Lucas oblivious to the rest of the room until he felt the mattress shift. With his peripheral vision he would see Connor leaning on the bed, his chin resting on his folded arms right beside Murphy’s head. 

“Have you had dinner?” Connor asked, soft and low and far too intimately for that mundane question. 

Murphy hummed a distracted, non-committal noise against Lucas’ lips and firmed his grip.

“Do you want–?”

Lucas broke the kiss, he couldn’t ignore Connor like Murphy seemed to be doing. Knowing he was in the cabin was one thing, but having him on the same bed suddenly made it very.... He felt a new hand cup the other side of his face as Murphy’s fingers slid over his throat, and he found himself looking into Connor’s eyes. 

“Sweet...,” Connor muttered and kissed him hard enough to make him whimper, make him hang on to the wrist next to his cheek for the sake of his jaw. And his sanity.

“Do I want? Aye, you could say that,” Murphy drawled against Lucas’ neck, running wet kisses over his collarbone and onto his chest as the force of Connor’s kiss pushed Lucas up onto his knees.

Push. Yeah, that’s exactly what Connor–who always seemed to be watching and assessing--was doing, pushing him to see how much he could take. Lucas was used to being pushed. And he liked to push back. He made the next kiss his, taking all of the excess energy Connor lit under his skin and sending it back through his lips and his hands as he took hold of Connor’s face. It was Connor’s turn to...okay, he didn’t whimper, he moaned. The sound went straight to Lucas’ cock, or maybe it was the feel of teeth, as Murphy also reacted and bit down gently on the soft flesh under Lucas’ ribs. 

Or maybe it was the pressure of fingers stroking the ridge under his fly, steadily increasing and finally resulting in a sharp gasp that broke the kiss. Hyper-sensitivity paralysed Lucas, but Connor continued, dragging his lips over Lucas’ jaw as he said, “Warned you about Murphy’s hands.” Lucas couldn’t help it, the reminder and the soft snort that tickled his belly make him laugh. 

Connor pushed him again, this time physically back onto the bed and followed him down to continue the kisses. They were just as intense, but Lucas was ready for them and starting to suspect that the first one hadn’t been a test, just Connor being Connor, the guy who barges into locked rooms prepared for the worst. The thought let Lucas relax, let him slide his fingers into Connor’s damp hair without needing to take a grip. It let him follow Connor’s lead close enough to make Connor moan again and side a hand around Lucas’ back to pull him closer. 

“Oww! Watch your fucking knees, Connor!”

Murphy’s virulent complaint broke the mood and his elbows shoved them apart, leaving them both panting hard enough to feel each other’s breath even with the width of half a pillow between them; a space being increased by the squirming and tugging going on further down the bed. Connor’s eye’s creased at the corners and Lucas returned the smile, then Connor turned all of his attention to his brother. “You havin’ difficulties down there, Murph?”

“Fucker.”

“Oh, I think it’s a bit premature for that determination.” 

Lucas almost backed away as he watched Murphy’s expression change from frustrated and petulant to focused and predatory. The only thing that kept him still was that the focus remained on Connor. Murph reached, planted one hand behind Connor and the other on Connor’s hip, pushing him face first onto the bed. Then in a single flex of his back and shoulders, dragged himself out of the tangle of legs and up onto Connor’s back. Connor struggled against the pin–sort of–but Murphy continued crawling up until he could whisper in Connor’s ear, “Aye. I might want to claim that title for myself.”

Connor groaned and Lucas gaze was drawn to subtle movement at Connor’s hips. The towel had been dragged up to his waist.

“Not fond of the feel of rivets and denim and a fucking zipper against your tender skin, hm?”

“‘T wasn’t a complaint,” Connor said, making a point to lift his head from the pillow. He braced his arms and shifted, then Murphy’s teeth sank into his shoulder. He groaned again.

“You’re twisted. You’re getting more like Ma everyday,” Murphy said. 

Another shift, making Lucas grateful he had been watching them close enough to anticipate when to scramble, and Murphy tumbled, laughing, into the space between them, Connor half lying on top, the towel well and truly gone. Connor captured the hands trying to push him away and trapped them above Murphy’s head “Now, I thought we had an agreement, man. An etiquette. A fucking code of conduct about this kind of situation, particularly with regard topics of conversation.”

Murphy laughed harder, too hard to do anything but nod.

“Perhaps some penance would be in order,” Connor suggested archly. “What do you think, Lucas, should we tie this wretched sinner to the bed?” 

The suggestion of anyone being bound almost brought on a flare of panic, but Connor’s broad wink curtailed it and redirected the jolt of adrenalin. Lucas looked down at Murphy, stretched out and flushed under Connor’s grip, and he started to understand the appeal. For him, being restrained had always been accompanied by threats of violence or death; here the breath panted through curved lips was tinged with laughter, not panic, and the muscles strained at the hold maybe with the intention of getting free, but not a thought to getting away. So Lucas looked up at Connor and nodded. 

Connor chuckled, but turned to Murphy and said sorrowfully, “Wouldn’t be much of a punishment for you though, would it?” The real disappointment on Murphy’s face made Lucas laugh in his turn. 

“Who’s fucking twisted, now?” Connor growled, lowering his mouth to Murphy’s.

“Connor.” 

A whispered name seemed highly appropriate for the moment, but even Lucas could hear that the tone was wrong. Connor pulled back, releasing Murphy’s hands as he listened to another couple of quickly whispered sentences. Lucas didn’t recognize the language but he could guess at the content. Murphy had glanced at him as Connor went in for the kiss and now as he spoke, Connor also sent a look in Lucas’ direction, his expression very much like Murphy’s had been when Lucas mentioned his concern about their familial ties: resigned, and more than a little sad. 

Connor shifted down far enough to rest his forehead on Murphy’s chest. Lucas watched in amazement, not so much that they would make the sacrifice of what was obviously their own enjoyment–although that impressed the hell out of him–but in regard to his own reaction. He didn’t want to make them sad, didn’t want them to stop. The aborted kiss hadn’t prompted dread or disgust, or even disapproval; he wanted to see it. Wanted to be a part of it, even only as a witness. For them to have to be careful with each other would mean they would also be on guard with him. He was sick of people being careful around him, of him. 

Lucas realized with dismay that his knee was pulled up in front of him again; it was becoming a bad habit, this protective stance. He didn’t remember sitting up, and glanced up at the brothers to see what he’d missed, if he’d been noticed. Connor remained in the same position, taking deep breaths against Murphy’s ribs, trying to get himself under control. Murphy met his eyes, though, with a patient anticipation of someone waiting for something important to happen. As their gaze held, Murphy’s narrowed a bit, then movement distracted Lucas. Murphy’s near hand slid down from Connor’s shoulder to the mattress and, after a few moments, the loosely curled fist opened, the spread fingers reaching toward Lucas. 

The movement caught Connor’s attention as well. The hopeful expression on his face as he looked first at Murphy then at Lucas decided the issue. Lucas rocked up onto his knees and continued forward to rest his forearm by Murphy’s shoulder. He knew he must be grinning like an idiot as he shifted his gaze from Murphy to Connor, who just blinked back at him. Impatient, now that everything had been decided, Lucas said, “If you're not going to kiss him, I will.” 

For all the noble words imprinted on his skin, Murphy did not play fair. The kiss was supposed to be an ice-breaker, a sign that Lucas was okay with the situation, not an invitation to drag him into a the middle of a messy three-way exchange of saliva. It would have been disgusting if it wasn’t so hot. Connor nipped at Lucas’ jaw and then licked his way between their pressed lips. Lucas was about to pull away, but Murphy’s hand in his hair held him close so that Connor could suck on his lower lip. Murphy ran his tongue down Connor’s throat and back up Lucas’ before insisting on his turn again. Open-mouthed kissed were passed around between them until Murphy seemed to decide he didn’t want to share anymore. Between long, deep kisses with Lucas, he’d throw swift, hard ones at Connor, keeping him from interfering when Murphy turned back to Lucas again.

It should have been suspicious when Connor gave in so easily, but Murphy made such a convincing winner, Lucas didn’t notice Connor had moved until he felt hands gripping the tops of his hips; it startled him into scrambling up onto his hands and knees. One arm wrapped quickly around his chest, not moving, just holding him still. Another hand braced on the bed beside his, blue-inked ‘Veritas’ drawing the focus of his eyes and his mind so that the wave of panic evaporated in the heat of a blush. He looked up at Murphy’s worried face and gave him a rueful smile just as he heard Connor’s voice by his ear. “Easy. It’s only play, Lucas. One word and it stops.” 

Mortification made speech impossible so Lucas tilted his head back, rubbing the side of his face against Connor’s. Connor made a small contented sound and relaxed enough for Lucas to feel heat against his back. He arched up, making contact with the skin of Connor’s chest. That earned him a low approving hum, a tightening of the embrace and a slow lick from his ear down the side of his neck. As he dropped his head to give Connor more room, Murphy punctuated the soothing caresses he had been giving to Lucas’ arm with a fingertip slap to the shoulder. His tongue poked out from between his lips and squirming clued Lucas in to what Murph had been doing with his free hand. Connor picked up on the idea. The hand on Lucas’ chest started a steady decent to his waist and the button of his jeans as Connor trailed kisses down his spine. 

Murphy curled up for a moment, pushing his jeans down further and stealing a kiss. Lucas returned it but his attention already had wandered to the Murphy’s taut abs and his fingers reached to map them. Instead of returning to the pillow, Murph propped himself up on one elbow and watched as Lucas slowly explored every dip and rise, even being brave enough to skim the inner edge of Murphy’s navel before continuing lower, evoking a soft hiss. He glanced up at the sound, but didn’t get a chance to see the expression that went with it. A hard jerk on the cuff of his pants pulled his legs out from under him and only the shove to his shoulder kept him from ending up falling face first onto that firm belly. Instead he lost his breath for a trio of bounces before eventually coming to rest on his back, sans jeans. He started a complaint about violently enforced dress codes when again the air was forced from his lungs as Murphy pounced on him. Pounced and then froze with a frustrated snarl. 

“Connor. Some help if you would be so kind.”

Looking over Murphy’s shoulder, Lucas could see Murphy’s bent legs holding up his jeans still tangled around his calves. 

“They say a sign of senility is the loss of ability to undress oneself.”

“And a sign of stupidity is to taunt the boy with all the good toys.” 

Murphy curled around on Lucas’ chest to face Connor, and Lucas could imagine the expression Murphy had put on, that of a dog guarding a bone. And yet he didn’t feel insulted being regulated to the position of “toy”, particularly when Connor nodded seriously and said, ”You have a good point,” then finished pulling off Murphy’s jeans while meeting Lucas’ gaze with a distinct leer.

Of course that didn’t mean the brothers should know. “A toy?”

“I think the stove needs more wood,” Connor said, turning away quickly.

As tempting as it was to watch Connor walk across the room–naked--there was retribution to be handed out, so Lucas gripped a fistful of Murphy’s hair, encouraging him to turn around. “What kind of toy do you see me as? A doll?”

“You’ve got the eyes for it.” Murphy stroked a thumb over Lucas’ eyebrow and smiled sweetly at him, making it difficult for Lucas to maintain the appearance of irritation. 

But he managed. “A puppet?”

The grin turned evil. “Only if it’s the kind where you stick your hand up its–“

“Murphy Sean McManus!”

Lucas’ own shock at the suggestion disappeared with Connor’s and he grinned back. “As long as it’s that kind.” 

Pulling Murphy into a kiss seemed the best way to end this increasingly crude line of conversation. Kissing Murphy was a good idea in general, so Lucas buried both hands him Murphy’s hair and held him there, biting and sucking Murphy’s lips, chasing the bold tongue back into Murphy’s mouth when it attempted to taste him, trying out every technique he experienced so far this evening. 

“You’re both depraved, “ Connor said. The nearness of his voice prompting Lucas opened an eye to see Connor kneeling beside him. “And greedy. Maybe I should leave you to it and go sleep in the car.” 

“No!” Both Lucas and Murphy broke the kiss with the same reaction and wrapped one arm each around Connor, pulling him onto his hands.

“You’re warm,” Lucas said, kissing the base of Connor’s throat within easy reach right above him, while moving his hand from Connor’s back to his fire warmed chest. 

“And you smell good.” Murphy nuzzled at Connor’s neck just under his ear. 

“I smell like wood smoke.”

“Much better than blood.”

“Yeah. Much.” 

The kiss, when it finally came, wasn’t what Lucas expected. It seemed gentle, almost chaste, until it deepened, remaining gentle but chaste could not longer apply due to the growing evidence Murphy pressed against Lucas’ hip and, in Connor’s case, in plain sight. Again the first word that came to Lucas’ mind was beautiful. His hand had come to rest on Connor’s flank and it made perfect sense to continue testing the rest of the golden skin. He slid under the ridge of Connor’s shoulder blade and brushed his spine with fingertips on the way down to the curve of his buttock. Lucas held his breath and spread his fingers wide, but otherwise tried to make no distinction, no change in speed or pressure as he continued the caress. Connor made a low sound and a glance back to the kiss showed that the gentleness had disappeared as well. As Murphy moaned back into Connor’s mouth, Lucas continued down Connor’s hamstring by touch, pressing harder back up the quad . He was sliding his thumb over Connor’s hip bone when they broke the kiss completely.

“Stop,” Connor gasped, rising back up onto his knees and covering Lucas’ hand. Murphy reached out and ran a finger along the length of Connor’s erection, catching the drop at the tip before Connor smacked his hand away. “Play with your own, ya bastard.”

Murphy cleaned off his finger with an exaggerated swipe of his tongue. “Much more fun to play with someone else’s.” A few crawled strides backward down the bed and Murphy hooked his fingers into the band of Lucas’ boxers. He paused there, hot breath brushing over Lucas’ stomach, watching through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. Waiting. 

Lucas had no intention of saying no, but the words he would say were lost in the amount of air his lungs suddenly seemed to need. Connor brushed Lucas’ hand from his hip and stretched out on his side on the bed, then he placed his hand on Lucas’ chest. Just like before the panic receded, but the words were still lost so Lucas simply lifted his hips. The wicked grin on Murphy’s face confirmed the message received. 

As Lucas’ last bit of clothing slid off, Connor’s hand also started to move, no longer calming but arousing. He fitted his fingers between Lucas’ ribs, following them until he reached the mattress and then back up onto Lucas’ chest to trace his collarbone to the notch at the base of his throat. Murphy picked that moment to stop fooling around and lick a firm strip up Lucas’ cock and as Lucas arched back into the pillow with a moan, Connor followed the motion, dampening the vibration with his palm. It continued like that, move and countermove, both of them distracting just enough from the other to keep Lucas continuously groaning and clutching at the mattress. 

“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful, Murph?” 

The wicked grin returned to Murphy’s eyes as he looked up with hollowed cheeks, but when he raised his head to answer and his eyes fell on Connor, his smile changed. “Yeah. I have,” he said softly. 

Connor blushed, and under the guise of shoving at Murphy, ran his fingers through the dark hair. “Get back to work, slacker.” 

The brief respite let Lucas get a tenuous grip on his control and made him want to do some of the touching as well. Murphy braced himself on his right hand, so Lucas simply reached and brushed his thumb over the tattoo. Fingers interlaced as Murphy slowly, ever so slowly, swallowed him again. Lucas’ other hand was almost trapped between Connor and himself; he lifted it to Connor’s belly and swept it in a slow arc to his chest. 

“You’ve got a smart brother there,” Lucas said as he brushed his fingertips under Connor’s jaw. “The second thing that came to mind when I saw you was ‘beautiful’.” He coaxed Connor close enough to slip his tongue into Connor’s mouth, not quite a kiss until Connor leaned in, chasing the intruder. Lucas let Connor take over the kiss, he continued his tactile exploration moving back down Connor’s chest until he was almost at the length of his reach again. Then his fingers brushed warmer, softer skin and it seemed perfectly natural to cradle that heavy heat in his palm, wrap his fingers around Connor’s cock. 

Connor ripped his mouth away with a moan.

“Should I stop?”

“Fuck, no,” Connor growled as he pressed his face into Lucas’ neck. He angled his hips toward the bed, flexing into Lucas’ hand and as he found a rhythm, and began to taste the skin under his lips. 

Hands. Lucas needed to focus on his hands, doing something with his hands. The rest of the feelings would then be background noise, waves on the shore. Constant, pleasant, but not distracting. Because right now he felt as if he were being pulled under by the roaring surf, tossed between Murphy trying to suck his soul out through his dick and Connor trying to tattoo the rest of him with his tongue. Focus. He had enough focus for four; he could handle this. 

The hand laced with Murphy’s acted as a good anchor, although he made sure he wasn’t hanging on too tight. The other had a more interesting task. Lucas spread his fingers and twisted at the wrist as Connor rocked into his grip, creating an interesting spiral of sensation along his fingertips and palm.

Connor raised his head with a hiss, “Shit. Nice,” and he took one of Lucas’ nipples between his teeth. Lucas arched his neck and unconsciously thrust into Murphy, who just hummed around the sudden intrusion. 

And Lucas was back to not being able to sort out which way was up and so he called for help, “You’re not going to get much of a hand job if you keep distracting me like that.”

The gently scratch of stubble over his abused nipple almost made him miss Connor’s reply, “Murphy, how could it be he’s still coherent? I _know_ you are better than this.”

“Didn’t want to scare the lad.” Murphy pulled his hand out of Lucas’ grip and the grin on his face made Lucas want to get it back. Hold Murphy back. “But he seems well able to keep up.”

 

TBC???


End file.
